


On the Eighth Night of Hannukah...

by BarefootGirl



Series: Eight Ficlets of Hannukah [8]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-31
Updated: 2016-12-31
Packaged: 2018-09-13 19:22:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9137866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BarefootGirl/pseuds/BarefootGirl
Summary: The eighth of 8 planned winter holiday ficlets.I'dplannedfor some First Night smuttery... but the boys were feeling a little introspective and affectionate, instead.  So you get sweet instead of spice.





	

“So.  Another new year’s eve, huh?”  Dean cracked a smile, although he was aware it wasn’t one of his better efforts.  “I swear, every year I think it’s some kind of miracle if we make it, but this year….”

Sam and their mom had run into town to catch a movie, promising to bring back pizza in time to ring n the new year, but Dean had known his mood would bring them down and opted to stay behind.  To his surprise, Cas had stayed, too.

The angel eyed the leather club chair adjacent to Dean’s then opted to sit on the low table in front of him, instead.  His shirtsleeves were rolled up, and the faint red around his knuckles suggested that he’d had a go at the pile of dishes in the sink.  “In some cultures, it’s called First Night.  They consider it not the ending of the old, but the beginning of the new, counting a day from sundown to sundown.”

“So we’re already in 2017?” Dean took a swig from his beer. “Good riddance.” 

“It has been… even by our standards, a difficult year.”  There was another beer on the table, condensation slowly dripping down onto the coaster. Castiel ignored it. 

“The popular term is ‘dumpster fire,’ Cas.  It’s been a dumpster fire of a year.  And most people don’t know the half of it.”  He ran a thumb over the bottle label, and tilted the neck at Cas.  “You think the whole thing with Amara and Chuck, it..”

“I do not believe it had a significant affect on the outcome of other world events, no.  Although…I cannot be entirely certain.”

“Great.”  Dean took another sip of his beer, whatever remnant of good mood he’d been holding onto fading entirely.  “Another thing to drop on our resumes.”

“Dean.”  That was the smite-of-god voice, and despite himself Dean looked up, tensing slightly.

“What happened with Amara was Chuck’s responsibility, not yours.  Yes, you opened the door for her return - but he was the one who locked the door in the first place - and then left the key within reach, without a warning.”  Cas frowned.  “I’m not entirely sure that metaphor worked.”

“I got it, don’t worry.  And yeah, I know, and I know we got them sorted out and everything’s copacetic and everything, but the world’s still screwed seven ways from Sunday, and it’s not the kind of thing we can fix.  I mean, even once we get Lucifer in a permanent time-out, assuming we can.  I just-“

“Dean.”

Not the smiting voice this time.  Dean stopped talking, swallowed hard, just in time for the bottle to be taken away from him, the damp click of glass against wood as it was placed on the table next to the unopened one, outside his immediate reach.

“I was drinking that,” he protested, without any hope of being listened to.

“No, you were hiding in it.”  Blue eyes studied him, a faint wrinkle marring his brow, and Dean felt the urge to brush his thumb over it, smooth it out.  Although it seemed less anger, or even worry, and more… contemplation.  

“Just me, Cas.  Nothing new here.”

“No. Nothing new,” Cas agreed. “The usual doubts and hesitations and lingering self-hatred-“

“Hey!” He reached for offended, found it choked up in laughter, instead.  And then even laughter was gone, the dry touch of lips against his forehead, then the tip of his nose, in a move that should have been annoyingly cute, not endearing, damn it, and then a brush across his lips, breath warm and smelling of ozone.

“I will have to continue to teach you more respect for yourself.”

It was still new, this.  Touching. Touching with intent, rather than studied carelessness.  Touching with fingertips, rather than palms, with lips rather than eyes only.

“C’mere.”  It should have been awkward, a grown man sliding onto his lap, but the weight was comforting, and hotter than he’d expected, the first time.  Now, their hips slotted against each other, arms draped comfortably over shoulders, breath mingling as Cas rested his forehead against Dean’s, eyes closed, the skin over his cheekbones in a rare moment of rest.

Whatever it was Cas saw in him, wanted in him… he could roll with that.  But that he could give Castiel this, that peace…it still shook Dean to the bone, more than anything else.  Shook him, and left him feeling fiercely protective of it, of the moments they had.  Not stolen, not hidden, but still too rare.

It hadn’t gone further than this.  Not yet.  But it would   They’d talked about it; awkward sentences and lingering pauses, followed by laughter, to sometimes, the need for space, always gravitating back toward each other.  Sam with his stupid face, grinning at them, and his mother…

He got the feeling she didn’t know quite what to make of any of it, but he wasn’t sure if it was because Cas was in a male vessel, or because of what was contained within the meat suit.  But she didn’t seem disapproving, just cautious, and he could understand that.

“You’re thinking too much,” a voice chiding him, and he grinned, sliding one hand down Castiel’s arm, adjusting his thigh more comfortably, groaning a little at the feel of the erection pressing against his own thigh.  Soon.  Maybe sooner than soon.

“Thinking good thoughts, though,” he replied.  “Which was what you intended, right?”

Fingers slid against his scalp, tugging gently at his hair until he tipped his head back and, grinning, waited for his reward.

**Author's Note:**

> Because relationships take work. And, in the case of Dean Winchester, the occasional kiss reinforcement therapy.
> 
>  
> 
> Unbeta'd, because my usuals are off kicking 2016 to the curb and good riddance to it.
> 
> And thus ends the eigh days of Hannukah ficlets, and brings us to First Night of 2017. ***raises glass*** To our health and our well-being, physical, mental, emotional and financial, from my house to yours.


End file.
